A Clean Room
by Takethe Blanket
Summary: One shot- Kyle opens up to his little brother on an uncharacteristically quiet night at home.


"What are you doing?" he asks me, leaning against my door-less doorframe and gazing through the room at me.

"Cleaning up," I tell him, surprised that I'm not feeling the dull edge of irritation I often find bubbling forth when Ike comes into my room to bother me. "A clean room is a clean soul."

"_That's _faggy," he retorts. I narrow my eyes at him. Irritation back.

"I'm not asking you to be in here, Ike," I bite, opening a desk drawer and looking away from him as I slide a few files of old school work and projects I wanted to save into the over organized cubby. I _am_ faggy. Whatever.

"Cannot help it," he chuckles. "You've no door."

"That's a fucking stupid way of talking," I glare back at him. He's still leaning against the empty doorframe, his dark hair falling messily over a smooth face and dark eyes. He shrugs, for once not bickering back, his mouth, so often nothing more than a straight line, seems to soften into a frown. Maybe.

"When do you think mom will put your door back on?"

"When she stops thinking I have shit to hide."

"Do you?"

"Ike, please, not today," I sigh, walking over to my bed and collapsing on it. I hear my little brother walking into my room, sitting down at my desk and probably messing up everything I had organized. I consider kicking him out, but I'm starting to not care anymore.

"I still don't get why she's angry at you," he tells me softly. I shut my eyes.

"I let my GPA slip," I try to explain. "I was spending too much time with friends, got a few B's, and it's hard to maintain a 4.5. She assumed I was into drugs and becoming corrupt or something. And then Kenny and I got in a fight in the living room and he called me a fag, so I'm sure that didn't help her image of me."

"But Cartman's been calling you a fag for years."

"Exactly," I sigh, "Kenny _hasn't._ Kenny and I used to be friends, and now that we don't talk, it looks really suspicious to mom."

I don't know why I'm telling Ike all of this. I guess it's easier to talk to him when my eyes are closed. He doesn't feel like my brother, he just feels like something to trust.

"I don't have straight A's."

"They don't expect you to get them. You're a sports guy. You'll get into college for your godly defense and consistent three pointers."

"Aw, gee, Kyle! You're too sweet!"

He's moved to the foot of my bed. The mattress sags beneath his weight and I feel my body shift downwards toward him.

"Shut the fuck up, dude."

Oddly enough, he does so. It's quiet for a long time, and I can feel Ike sitting there as still as his fourteen year old self can. My body is open on the mattress and I am able to pick up every time he shifts slightly, if he scratches his head or takes a deep breath. I have yet to open my eyes. It's so quiet in the house when our mom isn't home. It's nice to have these moments.

"Can I lay down?"

"Mhmm."

I can feel Ike crawl on his hands and knees on the space between my body and the wall. He collapses ungracefully there and I have to shift away from him to keep myself from rolling into his body. It strikes me as odd that he's so cumbersome and clumsy at home. He's a ballerina on the basketball court, if that makes any sense. I was never bad at basketball, but playing on teams with my little brother made me look like a fumbling idiot. I quit a few years ago. We still run together on the weekends, but we don't talk much. In fact, the brief conversation from earlier was the most he's said to me in a long while other than occasional family feuds. This silence is more characteristic.

"Are you falling asleep?"

Scratch that.

"No," I say, trying to hint in my voice that I'm definitely not going to fall asleep if he continues to talk.

"So, are you?"

"Falling asleep?"

"No. Gay."

What am I supposed to say to that? I finally open my eyes, rolling on my side to face him. Our faces are close on the twin bed and he stares back at me. Black eyes, expressionless face. He's so impossible to read and I sigh. It's not like I don't trust Ike. It's not like I have any reason to lie to him. He despises our mother just as much as I do, even if he's seemingly excluded from the majority of her tirades. I guess that's a brotherly thing. Even though we're not really related, when my mom screams at me, Ike feels it too. He's not going to tell on me, especially if it's not going to benefit him in any way. He speaks again.

"I'm not going to say anything."

I don't have the blessing of being a stoic Canadian. He reads me like a book.

"Ike," is all I say in return.

"What happened with Kenny?"

I want to close my eyes again, but I can't. He is laying just before me, his hands folded beneath his cheek like a pillow and he stares. We used to do this a lot when he was little, back when he was being haunted by ghosts. He'd cry and run into my bedroom. I'd hold him and wait for him to go back to sleep, but sometimes, he'd just stare up at me like this, like he was waiting for something. Waiting for me to convince people he was really being haunted, I guess. No one believed him, no one understood.

"I don't want to talk about that asshole."

He doesn't press the issue and I'm thankful.

Instead he says, "we hardly look like brothers."

"That's because we're not really, dumbfuck."

"Are you and Stan cool?"

If I were more delusional, I'd say he was frowning again.

"Yeah, we're cool," I answer, knowing that I'm about to let on to more than I had planned on telling Ike. "He just sort of avoids taking sides. Hangs out with both of us on separate time. It's not so bad. He's a good guy, tries to keep everyone happy."

"I look more like Stan's brother than yours."

Talk about a non sequitur. I'm letting on to my brother that I was in a homosexual relationship with one of my best friends and he's more concerned with hair color.

"No one looks like you, Ike. You're a fucking Canadian."

He sticks his tongue out at me and blows a raspberry, flecks of his saliva spattering over my face. Fuck close proximity.

"Ahhh! Fuck you, Ike!" I shout, lunging forward and shoving him against the wall. He cries out, laughing and flailing beneath me as my hands attack his stomach and tickle him hard. His cheeks turn red, mouth open wide, laughter silent and strained beneath me.

"Off!" he manages to cry. "Get off! Kyle, stop!"

Smirking, I relent, but quickly regret my decision. Before I know it, I'm beneath him, trapped beneath the larger body of my younger brother. I always fall for this. I'm afraid I'm hurting him and stop, and he takes the opportunity to gain the upper hand. I struggle beneath him, kicking my legs beneath where he straddles my thighs. My wrists are trapped in one of his hands, above my head and I grunt and groan as I continue to fight.

"When did you get so much bigger than me?" I complain.

"I went through puberty. I'm sure yours will start soon, don't worry."

I glower up at him, sure I'm as red as a firetruck with embarrassment and effort. It's not my fault his biological parents were giants. He's got a good three inches on me in height and forty pounds in muscle. It's hopeless. I go limp beneath him. He's staring again.

"I'm sorry that he hurt you," he finally tells me.

Out of nowhere, I begin to cry. Tears are rolling hot and fast down my cheeks and I am gasping for air. Ike stays on top of me, his hands still holding my arms above my head, his thumbs passing slowly over the tender part of my wrist where you'd check for my pulse if I were knocked out.

But I am not knocked out. In fact, I am very much awake right now, and I am feeling far much more than I have let myself feel in a very, very long time. Ike is holding my arms above my head, holding me open while I cry and cry and cry out everything I've been keeping cluttered up inside. I have not let myself cry about Kenny yet. These tears are washing me clean.

I wish I could know what Ike was thinking as he stares down at me. Although confused and soaked in my own tears, I find that I am not embarrassed beneath his dark gaze. The door to my bedroom lays against the wall, off the hinges, not doing its job. I have had no privacy for months, but right now, no one is home.

My eyes fall shut when Ike kisses me and I remain open to him, not once struggling against his hands. I am still crying and he does not mind. Slowly, he lets go of me, as if afraid doing so will change my mind. I reach forward and lace my shaky fingers softly through his shiny black hair and he sighs into my mouth, breaking the kiss to look down at me. My tears are slowing.

"Mom and Dad are going to be home soon," he whispers to me.

"Yes," I say, smiling through the quiver in my voice. "But you still have a door."


End file.
